


Mind over Matter

by devilinthedetails



Series: Descent into Darkness [2]
Category: PIERCE Tamora - Works, Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Depression, Gen, Madness, Mental Health Issues, Minor Spoilers for Tempests and Slaughters, Paranoia, Potions, cures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-10
Updated: 2018-04-10
Packaged: 2019-04-21 04:37:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14277075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devilinthedetails/pseuds/devilinthedetails
Summary: Ozorne and Master Chioke discuss Varice's potions for Princess Mahira.





	Mind over Matter

**Author's Note:**

> Please be aware that this story focuses on mental health issues, especially depression and paranoia, so exercise discretion when choosing to read. Also be aware of mild spoilers for Tempests and Slaughter.

Mind over Matter

“You’ve always claimed that Varice’s studies as a kitchen witch made her useless yet her potions have helped my mother more than any others combined.” Ozorne couldn’t resist gloating to Master Chioke as they sat in his office on either side of his desk. Seeing his mother more alive than she had been in years brought a vibrancy and confidence to him that only swelled more when he remembered that it was Varice’s agile mind and deft hand with herbs that had lightened his mother’s darkness. Varice was a true friend whose powers were all the more immense because they could be underestimated even by one as shrewd as Master Chioke. 

“Do you truly think that your friend’s potion has worked?” Master Chioke lifted an eyebrow as he often did when Ozorne disappointed him by offering a statement he deemed particularly obtuse. 

“I know my mother.” Ozorne faltered when he wanted to sound strong since nobody could know his mother with her fits of anger and despondency. Being with her always felt like a bumpy cart ride to nowhere, and, with her blood inflaming his veins, he sometimes feared he would end up as mad as she was. As she insisted about the Sirajit, bad blood would out—inevitably and always. Bad blood could never be trusted. It always betrayed you. It bred paranoia. “I’ve never seen her so alive since my father died.” 

“Yes.” Master Chioke rapped his desk with sharp, impatient knuckles. “The question is if that improvement is because your friend’s potion is efficacious or merely fortuitously effective because Her Highness believes it should be.” 

“What do you mean, Master?” Ozorne’s forehead knotted. 

“I mean it could be what healers call the water effect.” At Ozorne’s baffled expression that suggested the master’s words were clear as fetid swamp water, Master Chioke went on brusquely, the candles on his desk casting his face into flickering shadows, “During plague outbreaks when supplies of herbs ran perilously low, healers noticed a peculiar phenomenon when they responded to the crisis by giving some patients water as if it were potion. They expected the water to have no effect but they found that if the patients believed the water was a powerful potion, the water helped them. The water wasn’t special. Only their belief in it made it effective. I suspect it is the same with Her Highness and your friend’s little experiments with potions.” 

“You don’t believe that there is a potion for what ails my mother then, do you, Master Chioke?” Ozorne’s eyes narrowed to serpentine slits as a sneaking suspicion crept across his perception of his teacher. 

“Very good.” Master Chioke gave a curt nod of approval. “I don’t. What afflicts your mother is all in her head and can’t be treated by any potion. Any potion only has an effect on her since she believes it does, not because of any innate power in the potion.” 

“What about my affliction?” Betrayal burned Ozorne’s chest as a fire blazed inside him, threatening to turn his world to ash. He should have known better than to trust anyone except his faithful friends, who never abandoned him in his rages or his sorrows, Varice and Arram. He especially should have known better than to trust an adult. Adults were at best incompetent and at worst malicious. His father’s death, his mother’s descent into darkness, and the exalted emperor shaming him in a crowded throne room—forever earning him the contemptuous title of the Left Over Prince—should have taught him that painful lesson. “Have you been giving me potions you thought were effective or that you just wanted me to believe were effective?” 

“Your affliction only exists in your head. Any potion would only help you merely because you believed in it. It is the epitome of mind over matter.” Master Chioke reached across the desk to squeeze Ozorne’s shaking hand, but Ozorne pulled it way, not wanting to be touched by a man who had exploited and manipulated him at his most vulnerable. “Free your mind from the crutch of potions, and you will discover that there is nothing wrong with you. Your only problem is that you are smarter and stronger than the rest of the riffraff infesting our society.” 

Ozorne ached to argue—to point out the darkness inside him, his bitter resentments, his overwhelming hatreds, his crippling insecurities, his bleak listlessness, terrified him precisely because it was beyond his control, stronger and more primal than his reason ever could be—but he realized that Master Chioke with his unassailable logic would never offer any assistance beyond potions Ozorne now knew better than to believe him. He had never felt so alone and used as if his mind were clay to be molded for Master Chioke’s inscrutable purposes. 

“Thank you for the lesson, Master Chioke. I will remember it always.” Ozorne was grateful that his voice didn’t crack as he rose to take his leave but then the mind and heart always broke so silently that nobody could hope to hear.


End file.
